Moonlight Madness
by Swellison
Summary: A month after San Francisco, Sam and Dean are checking out an animal attack in the capitol of Texas. References to Heart.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Story originally appeared in Rooftop Confessions #1, published and edited by GriffinSong Press.

Moonlight Madness

By Swellison

Dean's eyes went from the menu to the pretty young waitress, hovering with her pen poised over her ordering pad. "I'll have the pecan waffles and double hash browns - scattered, covered, chunked, capped and topped." Dean rattled off his hash brown preferences with the ease of a long-time customer, which he was. Waffle Houses offered good, cheap food and were open 24 hours, so they'd seen a lot of Winchester business over the years.

"And you, sir?" the waitress turned her attention to the small booth's other occupant.

"I'd like the ham and cheese omelet, and an order of scattered and diced hash browns, please." Sam said after a quick scan of the menu.

"Dude," Dean rolled his eyes. "Get the chocolate chip waffles, you used to drool over 'em as a kid."

"That was chocolate chip pancakes at IHOP." Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "Waffles at Waffle House."

"Pancakes."

"Waffles."

"Pancakes."

"Waffles."

"Pancakes."

"I was there."

"I **ate** them! It was pancakes, dude."

Dean abruptly switched the topic. "Who orders an omelet at a Waffle House, anyway?"

"You'd be surprised, sir," the waitress answered before Sam could. "Since the first store opened, we've sold over two hundred thousand omelets." She smiled at Sam. "Do you want anything to drink with that omelet, sir?"

"Coffee and water, please. Make that two coffees," Sam said, gesturing to include Dean in the coffee order.

The waitress nodded, made a short notation on her pad, and walked away from the booth.

Sam quickly set his laptop on the table, opened it up, and logged on. After a few minutes of surfing he said, "Nothing unusual going on in Illinois." They had left Quincy, Illinois yesterday, after successfully concluding a salt and burn. Ever since Baltimore and especially after the bank incident in Milwaukee, Sam had taken to monitoring their backtrail, making sure no Feds or local LEOs took an interest in their recently-completed work . They weren't sure where they were headed, just away from Illinois. On basic principle, Dean avoided driving through Kansas, with no argument from Sam. They either went north through Nebraska or south through Oklahoma. Currently, they were passing through Rolla, Missouri. They had pulled over for breakfast at the Waffle House, after spotting a billboard on the highway that had surprisingly boasted free WiFi in addition to the world-famous waffles.

Dean picked up the local paper and scanned it while Sam widened his surfing range. A few minutes later, Dean said, "Nothing in Rolla, what about the rest of the state?"

"Couldn't find anything in Missouri, but I think I've got something here," Sam replied somewhat distractedly.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"A woman was mauled in Austin. Supposed wild animal attack in the middle of the city."

"What kind of wild animal?"

"The article doesn't say. Cops are being pretty closed-mouthed about it."

"Hmm, when did this happen?"

"Two nights ago."

"No leads?"

"Dean," Sam half-glared at him over the top of the laptop screen. "If you're gonna keep interrupting me, why don't you just read it yourself." He turned the laptop around and pushed it across the table to Dean.

"Not a bad idea," Dean grinned and began reading. After a few minutes, he shook his head. "Sammy, you didn't say that she was going to meet up with her ex-boyfriend."

"So?"

"So, more than likely, the ex-boyfriend did it. Went temporarily nutso and carved up his former girl friend. Not our kind of case, dude."

"The paper said she was the victim of a wild animal attack - not an ex-boyfriend."

"I bet the cops would tell a different story, say it was the ex. Besides, it happened in Texas."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All the crazy people live in Florida, California or Texas," Dean smirked. Then, he muttered, "If you watched Oprah, you'd know that."

Sam did a double-take, uncertain that he'd really heard Dean's last words correctly. Their food arrived before he could open his mouth to question Dean further. The blonde waitress set the omelet and hash browns with tomatoes in front of Sam, then a plate of pecan waffles and a side dish of hash browns with cheese, ham, mushrooms and chili in front of Dean. They started eating, and she returned with two steaming cups of coffee and Sam's glass of water.

Ten minutes later, they had polished off their breakfasts. "I still think we should check it out." Sam said, picking up their conversation where they'd left it.

"No. Think, Sam. Austin - capital of Texas? Place'll be crawling with cops and Texas Rangers, with all those politicians. Besides," he turned serious. "Baltimore, Milwaukee - we don't have good luck in the big cities." _And San Francisco, _Dean mentally added to the list. _Wait a minute, mauling? Animal attack? _Dean opened Sam's list of favorites and found the moon phases site that they'd bookmarked. Two days ago, five days before the next full moon, on April second. _Whoa. Just over a month ago, I was eager as hell to be chasing a werewolf. Now…. How can Sammy face another werewolf, so soon after Madison? But we can't walk away from this, either; people will die. Maybe it's not a werewolf, it's something else. Yeah. And maybe demons don't lie. _"Damn, I guess you're right. Ready to hit the road? Looks like we're going to Texas, after all."

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Dean pulled the Impala into a slanted parking space in front of Wiggy's Liquor Store. They'd spent most of their time driving through Oklahoma debating on which cover identities to use, and finally agreed on newspaper reporters. _Weekly World News_, Dean reminded himself as he straightened his dark gray suit jacket, remembering that he'd botched the paper's name in Red Lodge. He and Sam entered the liquor store where the victim had worked, heading for the cash register.

"Hi," Sam greeted the clerk. "We need to speak with the proprietor or manager, is he around?"

"Turn left after you enter the back room," the clerk gestured behind them. "Only closed door back there. Knock three times."

"Thank you," Sam said, and they made their way down the somewhat narrow aisle to the back room, noting the wide variety of beer, wine and spirits displayed on the shelves. He took a second to adjust his brown paisley tie before knocking on the closed door. Hearing a loud "Come in," pitched to carry past the closed door, Sam opened the door and they entered. The room was on the small side, the industrial desk and two square-backed visitor's chairs took most of the available space.

An average-looking man was seated behind the desk, his gaze traveling up, taking in his standing visitors. "Gentlemen? Have a seat, please."

"Dennis Elliott and Al Greenwood. We're reporters with Weekly World News, working on a story about Dorothy McCall. We understand she worked here." Dean said smoothly, as he and Sam sat in the indicated chairs. Sam pulled out a notebook and flipped it to a blank page.

"Larry Hillman," the man behind the desk introduced himself. "First off, her name's not Dorothy; it's--it was Dot." The corner of his mouth upturned. "'Dot, short and to the point, that's me,' she'd always say. " Noticing their blank looks, he explained. "Dot's only five foot two - but she was nobody's pushover, that's for sure. Being a liquor store, we do sometimes get rowdy customers - but she could hold her own against guys that were a foot, foot and a half taller. I've seen it."

"How long did she work here?" Sam asked.

"Three years - started just after she turned twenty-two. She had a liberal arts degree from ACC and couldn't decide exactly what to do with it. She answered a newspaper want ad. I must've interviewed a dozen people for the position, but she got it. She just - stood out in a crowd, if you know what I mean." He noticed Sam taking notes as he talked. "She was an excellent employee - probably not the kind of comments you're hoping to get for your story, huh?"

"We want our readers to have as much information as possible about Dot and her untimely demise," Dean said. "Details make the story. Tell me, did she have any enemies? Any disgruntled customers? Or unhappy boyfriends?"

"Enemies - Dot? You've got to be kidding. The last customer that complained about her was during the pre-Christmas frenzy - and he came back and apologized after the holidays. She didn't have a current boyfriend, she broke up with her old boyfriend in early January. And before you ask - I have no idea why."

"Do you know his name? Or how we can reach him?" Sam asked.

"His name's Paul Marshall. He's a sales rep for one of Austin's software companies. He travels a lot, mostly locally. Paul usually lunches at the internet café down the street. Dot used to meet him there for lunch, and then come in for work at one afterwards."

"Do you have a phone number for Mr. Marshall?" Sam asked.

Mr. Hillman opened his desk drawer and began rummaging. "I've got his business card here somewhere - there it is." He held the card out to Sam, who took it.

"Thank you." Sam said.

"Not to change the subject, but," Dean interrupted. "Do you know why Dot would be wandering that park - Zilker?- the night she died?"

"Well, she worked until nine or ten, and she lived in a neighborhood close to Zilker Park. Usually, she'd walk her dog when she got home. Dot liked strolling through the park, especially in the moonlight."

"Uh huh. What kind of dog did she have, do you know?"

"Rottweiler. His name's Reisling."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "That's not the kind of dog that I'd like to tangle with."

"I'd think even a wild animal would reconsider attacking a person with a Rottweiler." Dean said.

"Unless it went after the dog first?" Sam mused.

"What do you think about what the papers are saying, that Dot was mauled by a wild animal?" Dean questioned.

"I knew you'd get around to that," Hillman grumped, then held up his hand. "I know, sensationalism sells, violence sells; it's news."

"You have to admit that mauling by a wild animal in Austin's most well-known park is news, though," Dean interjected.

"Possible wild animal," Hillman countered. "It could just be a stray dog, or dogs. Lots of cities have problems with stray dogs running loose." He sighed. "To be honest, I'm having a hard time wrapping it around my head that Dot's not coming in to work anymore. I keep expecting her to walk through the front door and say, 'Hi, Boss. I'm here.'"

"She was working the night she was attacked?" Dean prodded.

"Yeah, I left a little after seven. Dot, Greg and Henry manned the store after that."

"I thought that her ex was the last one to see her--?"

"Yep. He called here about a quarter to nine, and they met for a late dinner." At Sam's raised eyebrows, Hillman explained. "Greg told me that the next morning. He answered the phone, and we're a small store. It's hard to keep your phone calls private."

Dean glanced at his watch; it was almost half past noon. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Hillman. Ah, you said Paul Marshall usually lunches at an internet café?"

"Jwic's."

"I beg your pardon?" Sam asked.

"I forgot, y'all aren't locals. Java Joe's World Wide Web Internet Café. Jwic's for short. It's two blocks from here."

"Thanks for talking to us and we're sorry for your loss," Sam murmured, rising to his feet. Dean joined him and they left the office.

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Dean bought a bottle of Jack Daniels on their way out. "Long as we're here, we might as well give the man some business." They left the Impala parked in front of the liquor store and walked the two blocks to Jwic's. Entering Java Joe's World Wide Web Internet Café, they found a bustling lunchtime crowd.

The internet café's theme was high tech with glossy gray walls, and a long silver metallic ordering and food bar that separated the staff from the customers. Most of the tables were occupied by businesspeople alone or in small groups, and several laptops were up and running. Sam retrieved Marshall's business card from his pocket and his cell phone. He dialed the number, and they scanned the room, looking to see which businessman answered his cell.

Dean spotted their man, sitting alone at a four-top towards the back of the café. They walked over to his table and Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Marshall? Paul Marshall?"

"Who wants to know?" the man glanced upwards. He was in his mid-thirties, brown hair and eyes, dressed in a dark blue business suit and muted gray tie.

The Winchesters seated themselves and Dean made the introductions. "Dennis Elliott and Al Greenwood, reporters with Weekly World News. We'd like to talk to you about Dot McCall."

"Of course you would," Paul Marshall said sourly.

"Well, you are the last person to see her alive," Dean said. "Makes for a good newspaper lead, doesn't it? Dot McCall was last seen in the company of her ex-boyfriend."

"We had a quick dinner at Denny's - and she was fine when she left, alone. I watched her get into her car and drive off."

"Dot's boss said you broke up a couple of months ago. Why'd you want to see her that night?"

"I had some good news and I wanted to share it with Dot." Off their raised eyebrows, he said, "Hey, we were still friends, all right? We didn't break up because I was cheating on her, or anything like that."

"Why did you break up?"

"Why would I tell you? So you can splash it all over the front page?"

"Off the record, then." Sam offered.

Paul sighed. "It's not a big secret, or anything. I wanted to settle down, Dot wasn't ready to. She said--" he faltered --"She said she was young and had her whole life in front of her, and she wasn't ready to settle down. Ironic, huh? Anyway, we grabbed a quick bite to eat and talked, then we went our separate ways."

"And that's the same story you told the cops?" Dean prodded.

"Yes. They leaned on me, at first, but then they found another witness."

"Witness?"

"Yeah, someone who'd seen Dot alive after she left Denny's - so the cops decided they believed me, after all."

"Who saw Dot?"

"Her neighbor, Mrs. Grennich, the old busybody. She saw Dot taking her dog, Reisling, out for a walk about 10:30 that night. Said she knew it was ten-thirty because the local news was just ending when she heard the dog bark a couple of times. She looked out her window and saw them leaving the apartment complex."

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"Well, here it is," Dean glanced at the large, roughly square area staked out by yellow crime scene tape. "The scene of the crime." He spoke in a low tone, since they weren't the only gawkers present. Three days after the incident, the location still drew enough official and unofficial attention to have a park security guard posted at the scene. The dozen or so spectators stood as close to the taped-off area as the guard let them, eying the scene and talking among themselves.

Sam took out a pair of palm-sized binoculars and started scanning the area behind the tape, as surreptitiously as possible. There were a few trees in the enclosed space, but mostly it was a blend of dirt and grass, not the best surface to expose tracks. They were close to an edge of the 350-acre park, but the area didn't look any different from the surrounding parkland. "No definitive tracks," Sam finally muttered, after a thorough examination of the area.

"That's what I figured," Dean murmured. He glanced at his watch. "Let's go get some dinner. We've got a long night."

They leisurely walked back to where they'd parked the car, in one of the on-location parking lots. As they approached the parking lot, they spotted a very tall, thin structure that looked somewhat like a radio tower. It completely dwarfed the ring of telephone polls surrounding it. There were also scattered wind-twisted trees, and a few picnic tables randomly placed in its vicinity. Most of the other park dwellers were ignoring the structure, but a couple of girls were taking pictures of it. On impulse, Sam headed over to the tower for a closer look, Dean automatically following. As Sam and Dean approached, the girls finished their photographs, and walked away, smiling in passing.

The Winchesters turned their attention to the tower, impressive at close distance. At ground level, the tower was just a thick steel pole painted a light gray, but about fifteen feet above ground, it branched into a long open-framed triangle, reminding Sam equally of a Tobleron candy bar and a three-sided engineering ruler. The graceful tower had wire X supports along each side and was topped by six shielded spotlights.

Sam craned his head upward to view the top of the tower, realizing it had to be well over one hundred feet tall. Dean, meanwhile, located two plaques attached to the tower. The first was a warning not to climb it, the second was a historical marker, which he read aloud.

"AUSTIN'S MOONLIGHT TOWERS

THIS IS ONE OF 31 ORIGINAL MOONLIGHT

TOWERS INSTALLED IN AUSTIN IN 1895

SEVENTEEN REMAIN. EACH TOWER

ILLUMINATED A CIRCLE 3,000 FEET USING

6 CARBON-ARC LAMPS (NOW MERCURY

VAPOR). AUSTIN'S TOWER LIGHTS ARE THE

SOLE SURVIVORS OF THIS ONCE-POPULAR

INGENUOUS LIGHTING SYSTEM 1993"

"Huh," Dean finished, then joined Sam in looking up, through the delicate-looking framework of the unique lighting tower. "Well, that's - different." A few seconds later, his stomach rumbled.

"That's not," Sam teased.

"Let's get back to the motel, order a pizza and do some planning."

Sam nodded in agreement, and they turned away from the tower, heading for the Impala.


	2. Chapter 2

Moonlight Madness – Chapter 2

Sam's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, rolled his eyes as he saw Dean's cell in the display area. "What?" he half-whispered fiercely into the moonlit night.

"It's almost one," Dean answered in a low tone. "Just checking in."

"You mean just checking up on me," Sam hissed. "I'm fine Dean, no sign of trouble here. Out." He clicked off his cell and returned it to his pocket.

They had returned to Zilker Park about 11 PM, taking advantage of the deserted park to give the crime-scene an up-close and personal going-over. Even at that range, they only found a few partial tracks, and were unable to determine exactly what they were dealing with. They assumed it was a were-creature of some kind, neither mentioning that werewolves were the most common weres, and adjusted the hunt accordingly. They split up, both to cover more ground and to lure the creature into making another appearance. Sam was currently monitoring a tree and grass-filled section of the park, close to Barton Springs Road. So far, no second animal attack had been reported, either in the park or anywhere in Austin. _Kind of odd_, Sam thought. _Since it's still two days before the full moon, and peak hunting time for werewolves. _

His cell phone vibrated again and Sam retrieved it. _Peak worrying time for older brothers, too. _"Dude, I'm fine. You don't need to keep checking up on me."

"Sammy--"

"What part of 'I'm fine' don't you understand?"

"Glad to hear that, 'cause I spotted it."

"Where?" Sam snapped, suddenly all business.

"Close to the initial kill scene, actually. I'm about fifty feet north of it."

"On my way," Sam turned off his cell and shoved it into his pocket. He reversed direction, hauling out and activating his EMF detector, heading for the crime scene. As Sam ran, he caught a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. Startled, he slowed down slightly, trying to figure out what he'd seen-and he tripped over the above-ground root of one of the gnarly, wind-bent trees in his path. Sam fell down on the ground, the EMF detector flying out of his hands, landing face-up on the ground several feet to his right.

_Good thing Dean didn't see that, or I'd never hear the end of it._ Sam thought as he scrambled to his feet. He strode quickly towards the EMF detector, away from the trees. He bent over to pick it up and noticed that the instrument was squealing, five lights flashing. His hand reached smoothly for his gun, pre-loaded with silver bullets as he cast a sharp, wary look at his moonlit surroundings.

No werewolf anywhere near him, but the EMF detector continued to sound. Sam flicked the safety back on his gun and replaced it in his waistband. Then he picked up the detector, keeping it pointing in the same direction it was on the ground. He peered straight ahead, and found the moonlight tower, dead-center several yards in front him. "What the--"

Then he remembered Dean's call about the creature and abandoned the tower, heading for the crime scene as fast as he could. Seeing the crime scene tape in the distant moonlight, Sam veered northward and almost ran into Dean a minute later.

Dean was staring to his right, gun gripped in his right hand, aimed at a cluster of trees in front of him. He turned to glare at Sam, a finger at his lips in a silent "Shhhhhhhh!" when they heard a rustling in the trees ahead.

Suddenly, a large black animal emerged from the trees. It paused to sniff the air for a second or two, and Sam noted that its blue eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. How weird was it that they were blue. A shiver ran down Sam's spine. Then it turned tail and bolted through the trees.

"Shit!" Dean cursed, then they hauled ass after it, chasing the retreating animal as quickly as they could. The animal had amazing speed, and rapidly outdistanced them. After ten minutes of pursuit, Dean called a halt.

"Damn that thing is fast! I lost sight of it completely," he admitted to Sam, and began examining the ground, searching fruitlessly for paw prints or tracks in the grass.

Sam joined him in the search, also turning up no sign of the animal's trail. He sighed, "At least we know it's not a werewolf; it's a werecougar."

"-panther," Dean said simultaneously.

"Werecougar."

"Werepanther."

"Cougar."

"Panther."

"Mountain lion?" Sam offered as a compromise.

Dean scoffed. "That's just another name for cougar. No, it's a werepanther, big, black and definitely feline."

"Dude, panther's just a generic name for any large black feline, most commonly a leopard, or a jaguar."

"Thank you, Mr. Wikipedia." He scowled at Sam. "What took you so long, anyway?"

"I found something, back where I was when you called."

"What?! Not another werepan…uh, cat?"

"No. I'll show you on the way out-it's close to where we parked the car."

"So, you're giving up on tracking it?" Dean asked flatly.

"What tracks?" Sam gestured towards the short, stubbly grass. "I can't track it through this stuff, can you?"

"No." Dean admitted reluctantly. "I think we've given it enough excitement that it'll go to ground for the rest of the night. Obviously, it knows the area better than we do."

"Then we need to rectify that." Sam said. "So we're ready for it tomorrow night."

"Okay. Now, what did you want to show me?"

"This way," Sam started walking back the way he'd come, towards the Impala and the moonlight tower. Dean kept step with him.

Several minutes later, they approached the moonlight tower.

"Hey." Dean stopped suddenly, eying the ground.

"What?" Sam turned to look at him.

"Check this out," Dean pointed towards his shadow on the ground and took three slow steps. They watched as his shadow suddenly became seven different shadows, some more sharply outlined than others. "What the--?"

Sam's gaze tracked from Dean's shadows to the now-lit tower still a fair distance in front of them. He saw six bright lights blazing away at the top of the tower. _Six mercury vapor lights… illuminated a circle of 3,000 feet. _He heard Dean's voice, reading the plaque this afternoon. _ That's what I saw when I tripped, my own shadows. Oh, boy._ "There's more." Sam said, and resumed walking towards the moonlight tower.

When they were close enough, Sam stopped and pulled out his EMF detector. He pointed it towards the moonlight tower and turned it on. SQQQQUUEEAALLLLLL! The lights along the top of the recorder went crazy.

"Huh." Dean said, then clapped Sam on the back. "Sammy, I think you're doing some research on these towers tomorrow."

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Sam woke up and glanced at the motel's alarm clock. 6:34 AM. No matter what time he went to bed the night before, Sam couldn't sleep in late the next morning. _Curse of being a morning person, _he thought. Giving up on sleep, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, he gently set the laptop on the room's rather scarred table and seated himself behind it. Working quickly and quietly, so as not to disturb his still-slumbering brother, Sam began searching the internet for information about the moonlight towers. He found several tour-Austin sites, all giving the same basic information about the moonlight towers: built in 1895, thirty-one original towers, seventeen still remaining today. The towers were all 150 feet long, placed on a fifteen foot tall steel pole to discourage climbers. A complete top-to-bottom restoration/renovation of all the existing lights took place in 1995. The restored moonlight towers were replaced in their original spots in time to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the towers on May 6, 1995.

_Touristic fluff_, Sam thought, _not what I'm looking for, although it's good to know the basic facts._

Sam frowned and continued searching for more information about the moonlight towers. In _The Daily Texan_, the University of Texas' student newspaper, he found a fairly long article with a brief mention of the towers. The article mentioned that a series of newspaper articles from the towers' inception in the 1890s was available at the LBJ Library's Center for American History. Sam found the LBJ Library's website: he hastily closed his laptop and rose from the chair.

Sam crossed the room to Dean's bed, and nudged it. "Dean. Wake up."

Dean mumbled and rolled over, away from Sam.

"Dean!" Sam called a little louder, impatiently thumping the bed with his foot.

Dean sprang awake, right hand snatching his knife from underneath his pillow. He glanced around the room, spotting no threat, nothing but Sam. "So help me, Sammy, if this is an April Fool's joke--" he threatened, slipping the knife back under his pillow.

"Sorry for the rude awakening," Sam apologized, "but I need to get to the LBJ Library." He glanced at his watch. "The Reading Room opens in about forty minutes, and I need to do some on-site research there."

"And you woke me up just to ask for the car keys?" Dean's annoyance came through loud and clear.

"You said you were gonna reconnoiter the park in the daytime, get the lay of the land. So I need you to drop me off at the library, on the way."

"On-site? Why can't you use the laptop?" Dean grumbled, gesturing towards the table.

"The library has all the old newspaper articles from when the towers were first built. They're on microfiche, too old and esoteric to be scanned and placed on-line, I guess. I need to see those articles --and check a couple of other turn-of-the century happenings."

Dean glanced sharply at Sam. "You have a theory about what's going on?"

"More like a half-baked idea right now. I have to do some more research, to fill in the holes."

"Okay. Gimme fifteen." Dean rose from the bed, heading for the bathroom.

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After dropping Sam off at the LBJ Library, on the University of Texas' campus, Dean drove back to Zilker Park, glad to be doing his research outdoors. He picked up a map of the park, studying it for possible lairs for the werepanther. Zilker had a lot of open land, a decent amount of sports facilities, botanical gardens, and a miniature train. _Nothing that would conceal a werepanther,_ Dean thought, then read the blurb about the Nature Preserve, which showcased Texas wildlife and its habitats. _Hmmm, worth checking out._

The Nature Center was more interesting than Dean thought it would be, especially since his tour guide was an attractive young brunette named Nicole. Dean asked Nicole a few questions about the zoo's animals, leading up to asking if a wild animal could be lurking in the park, even with the hordes of people roaming the park during visiting hours?

Nicole thought it was possible that a wild animal could be hiding in a cave in the park.

"A cave?" Dean hadn't encountered any caves in the parts of Zilker that he'd seen so far.

"In the limestone cliffs included in the Nature Preserve - I know there's at least a few caves, I've been inside them."

Dean added the rock cliffs around the Nature Preserve to his list of places to check out tonight, and reluctantly parted company with Nicole at the tour's end. He stopped at one of the concession stands for a late lunch--three hotdogs and two snow cones. Then he called Sam and said he'd pick him up in half an hour.

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Dean swallowed the last forkful of moo goo gai pan, and set the empty Chinese take-out box on the table. "Okay, let's hear your theory, College-Boy."

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname and dropped the chopsticks that he'd used to eat his portion of their multi-box Chinese dinner. He rose to his feet, gathering the empty take-away containers and depositing them in the trash. Returning to the table, he picked up his satchel and placed it on the tabletop. Sitting down again, Sam started. "All right, the moonlight towers have been in Austin for over a century, lighting up the city 365 days a year, year after year. There are only two known periods when they were unlit: for a week in 1905 because of a dispute over electric power between the City Council and the power company, and briefly in 1973, during the energy crisis.

"Also during 1973, a homeless man was apparently mauled by a wild animal close to Zilker Park. That much I knew before I went to the library."

"I take it the mauling in 1973 wasn't a coincidence?" Dean asked.

"Nope, not a coincidence. The moonlight towers were out of commission for only two nights--and the man was mauled on the second night the lights were out. Incidentally, it was the week before the full moon. So I checked if anything happened in 1905, the only other time that the towers were unlit. Two men were killed by animal attacks during that week, and yes, it was the week before the full moon that time, too. A man named Daniel Bainbridge wrote a pretty scathing editorial, said that Austin was jeopardizing the lives of its citizens while the City Council squabbled over money."

"Interesting," Dean commented.

"Originally, there were thirty-one moonlight towers. It took some doing, but I located a map of the original locations for all the towers, and made a copy." Sam flipped open the satchel while he spoke, extracting a piece of paper and a pen. He moved the pen rapidly across the paper as he spoke. "I connected all thirty-one tower locations, and then all the outmost locations. I got this." He finished drawing and rotated the paper so that Dean could see the finished drawing: a five-point star in a circle.

Dean whistled softly. "So there has to be a connection between the towers and the animal attacks."

"Uh huh. It took some digging, but I figured out what it is." Sam took a breath. "The town started pushing for the tower lighting in the early 1890's as a safety measure. The towers were better than normal street lights for Austin, because the ground was unpaved and very uneven, not to mention hilly in some places. Things were going pretty smoothly, until almost the last minute. The City Council hit a funding snag, and suddenly found itself $15,000 short, less than two weeks before the scheduled grand opening and ceremonial first lighting of the towers on May 6, 1895.

"Almost all of that $15,000 shortfall was donated by one man: Daniel C. Bainbridge, a wealthy young businessman living in Austin at the time.

"He was engaged to marry Constance Applewhite, an Austin socialite that June--June '95. His fiancee was stricken with a mysterious illness, and the wedding didn't take place. Constance Applewhite was a blue-eyed blonde, typical Gibson Girl. She was born in 1876, into a well-off family--but I couldn't find a record of her dying, anywhere in Texas, hell, anywhere in the United States, for that matter."

"So I looked for more information on Daniel C. Bainbridge - Daniel Colt Bainbridge. He was the great-grandson of Samuel Colt." Dean's head snapped up at that and Sam continued. "Yes, **the **Samuel Colt, the one who made the Colt gun that we had, until…" He broke off, unwilling to finish that sentence.

Dean concentrated on the past mystery. "You think Daniel Bainbridge is the reason why the tower lit up your EMF detector? A hundred years later?"

"Why not? The Colt still works, after well over a hundred and fifty years. Samuel Colt clearly knew about the supernatural, I think he passed the knowledge along to his descendents, kept it in the family, like we do. And Bainbridge--Samuel Colt's great-grandson--used that knowledge in Austin."

"Wait a minute," Dean objected. "Didn't that plaque say the towers were completely renovated? So the originals don't even exist anymore, technically."

"And the remaining towers were restored to their original locations. Bainbridge must've worked his mojo on the towers in their original placements, so it's a combination of location and illumination that makes the towers powerful."

"Six huge lights atop a three-sided structure. Nine--the most mystical number of them all." Dean commented.

"Remember, the pentagram is one of the strongest symbols of protection around."

"Protection against what?"

"Against the werecat: Constance Applewhite."

"What?" Dean said, but it was pretty evident he was catching on. "Oh yeah, the werecat had blue eyes!"

Dean tilted his head. "So what do you think, the werecat has been here for the past century, doing--doing what?"

"It's pure conjecture, but I think she's been sleeping, mostly. Don't you get it, Dean? Bainbridge found a way to save her. He used the moonlight towers in some way to keep her confined to Zilker Park and safely asleep. Like Sleeping Beauty."

"Only this Sleeping Beauty wakes up as the Big Bad Wolf." Dean winced after his words slipped out. _Why'd you have to say Wolf? _He berated himself. _ You know Sammy will only take that one way. He's already thinking about Madison. 'Bainbridge found a way to save her.' _And Sam didn't find a way to save his girl. "Sorry, Sammy, I didn't mean to--"

Sam shrugged off the half-apology. "I ran the pentagram configuration through a structural analysis--emailed an engineer I know from Stanford to check my figures."

"Huh?"

"To maintain the design integrity--the potency of the pentagram's protection--a minimum of sixteen towers have to be lit."

"The plaque said that there are seventeen towers still standing." Dean recalled.

"Uh huh. Austin had a freak thunderstom last week--took out a lot of electricity, including three of the downtown moonlight towers--leaving fourteen functioning towers."

Once again, Dean caught on fast. "And releasing the werecat."

"It takes a lot to replace the lights in the moonlight towers. The city has to use a Condor lift to replace the bulbs, and they have to close off the street to maneuver the lift safely. The towers are scheduled to be relit late next week."

"We can't wait that long." Dean said firmly. "Tomorrow's the full moon."

"I know," Sam said softly, "but--"

"Bainbridge didn't save Constance, Sammy. He locked her up in an endless cage, in an animal's body. Even if she's sleeping ninety-nine percent of the time, what kind of life is that? It's not my definition of saving anyone. You released Madison and she's at peace, now. You saved her.Okay, lecture's over." Dean checked his watch: quarter to seven. "We've got about four hours to kill before heading for Zilker again. D'you wanna play cribbage or grab some shut-eye?"

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A/N: Hope you're continuing to enjoy the story. Have I given you the urge to visit Austin? Both the moonlit towers and the liquor store are real places;-)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Hunting by Moonlight

Sam and Dean silently walked through the park, heading for the Nature Preserve's cliffs. The moon glinted off the high cliff they were seeking, that bordered the far side of a meadow. They left the trail, quickly crossing the exposed meadow and reaching the bottom of the imposing limestone cliff.

They flicked on the small Maglites they always carried, and started scanning the cliff face for cave openings. The first two caves that they located were too small to be used as the werecat's lair, so they kept on looking. The next opening was big enough that even Sam could slip through, if he ducked, but it was empty--no sign of it being the den for any wild animal. Two more openings were too small for the Winchesters or the werecat to slip through.

Sam was beginning to get discouraged when Dean spotted one more cave.

"Check it out," he waved his hand holding the Maglite, creating a waving beam of light that swung from the top to the bottom of the tall, narrow cave opening twice. Then he flicked off the flashlight and listened intently for almost a minute. Satisfied that nothing was in the cave, he slipped cautiously through the opening, Sam on his heels.

Once through the opening, the cave walls expanded away from each other, turning the interior into a comfortably open twenty by fifteen foot cave-room. Sam flicked the flashlight over the cave floor, scanning for signs of occupancy.

"Wait, dude. Flash the light back that way," Dean suddenly directed, pointing to his left. Sam swung the flashlight in the direction indicated, and Dean bent to pick up a thin length of dark leather - a dog leash. He gingerly poked around the ground in the area close to the leash's location and dug up a few bones. A soft sigh escaped him. "I found Riesling."

"So, this is her lair. Now all we have to do is wait." Sam hunkered down.

"But not in here--it's too confining. I'll wait outside, close to the entrance but not blocking it," Dean laid out his plan."And you can keep watch in that cluster of trees not too far from the cliff."

"Hey, what gives?" Sam asked. He was used to being the bait--even when they didn't plan it that way, he seemed to be everything's favorite target and he knew Dean would show up in time, guns blazing.

"My turn, Sam. Remember that zombie girl? She broke your hand, last time you played bait."

"My hand's fine, Dean and you know that. It's been healed for weeks, now."

"Not the point, dude."

"So what is the point?"

"Point is--I'm the bait, you're the cavalry. End of discussion." With that, Dean strode quickly for the cave entrance, leaving Sam to follow.

Sam emerged from the cave and looked for Dean, spotting him hovering twenty feet away from the cave entrance, about five feet away from the cliffside. He considered going over to Dean and continuing their discussion, but he knew how pointless that would be. Dean's mind was made up, and Sam knew exactly how stubborn Dean could be--he was a Winchester, after all. Besides, an argument could alert the werecat to their presence, and she would elude them again. Grumbling mentally to himself, Sam walked over to the nearest tree, positioned himself so that he could clearly see Dean, and waited.

He waited like that for almost forty-five minutes, and began to wonder . _What if we miscalculated and the werecat isn't back yet because she found another victim somewhere else in the park? How long are we supposed to wait?_

_Wait! What was that? I thought I heard something. _Sam glanced in Dean's direction, nothing new there. Dean stood close, but not too close to the cliff, waiting. Uneasy, Sam pulled his gun from where it was tucked into his waistband and slipped the safety off. He heard a faint sound and glanced at Dean, who was tilting his head slightly, as if he heard something, too. Then Dean looked up and Sam did, too.

A dark shape plummeted down from the top of the cliff and Sam remembered too late that cats loved to pounce on their prey from higher perches. He brought his gun up and sighted on the werecat, squeezing off a shot as soon as he had lined up on the creature's heart.

Bang!

The werecat landed half on Dean, extended claws raking his shoulders as he fell to the ground, the werecat on top of him. Sam broke cover, running towards Dean, gun ready to aim another shot at the werecat, but it lay unmoving, with Dean underneath it. Sam warily checked the werecat, but one glance at its unseeing blue eyes confirmed that the beast was dead. Sam heaved the creature off of Dean, assessing the damage caused by the were's claws. In the moonlight, he could see long bleeding gashes on both of Dean's shoulders, cutting through the dark jacket and shirt, exposing the bleeding skin. Dean groaned.

"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees.

Dean opened his eyes and glanced from Sam to the werecat off to his right. "Constance?" he mumbled and Sam tore his gaze away from his brother to the werecat.

The werecat was gone, replaced by a young woman with long blonde hair and sightless blue eyes. After a few seconds, the girl's figure dissolved into dust. A sudden breeze swept through the dust, scattering it to the four winds.

"Well," Dean said faintly. "That solves the problem of the body."

Sam stared at Dean, momentarily frozen. Music from a passing car split the air, reminding Sam that they were in the middle of Austin, not out in the wilds of nowhere. "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give love a bad name, bad name…"

Sam shook himself and slipped out of his backpack. He'd stuffed their first aid kit and extra silver bullets in it when they left the Impala. Thank goodness, his brother hadn't been bitten.

Sam eyed Dean's shoulders as he reached inside his jacket pocket. Dean's blue jean jacket was in shreds - he'd be glad he wasn't wearing his leather jacket. Sam hauled a flask of holy water out and opened it. Dean watched him warily, face tight with unacknowledged pain. "This is just for the claws, Dean. No bites--you won't be turning into a werecougar at the next full moon."

"Werepanther." Dean corrected softly.

"Were-anything," Sam countered firmly. "Sorry, bro' but this is gonna hurt," he murmured, pouring holy water over Dean's wounds. The gashes immediately bubbled and fizzed and Dean moaned. Sam bit his lip and poured another dose of holy water over Dean's shoulders, which still reacted, although the bubbles were noticeably smaller and less frequent. When the bubbling died down after less than two minutes, he poured a third dose. Nothing happened, the holy water just soaked Dean's jacket, shirt and shoulder.

Sam sighed in relief that was over. "That was the hard part," he said, and opened the first aid kit. Then he took off his own jacket, folded it and put it under Dean's head as a pillow. He carefully removed Dean's jacket and shirt and extracted a large field bandage from the kit. Placing it over Dean's wounds, he pressed down firmly for a few minutes, ignoring, as Dean did, his older brother's grunts of pain. Sam taped down the field bandage and helped Dean to a sitting position, handing him back a fresh shirt and his jacket. "That's all I can do 'til we get back to the motel. You ready to blow this pop stand?"

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Sam woke quietly, and glanced immediately towards Dean, sleeping in the next bed. Last night, it had taken Sam almost an hour to get Dean settled and thoroughly clean the werecat's gashes, and another ten minutes arguing about stitches. Sam had wanted to stitch at least the two deepest claw marks, but Dean insisted he just use butterfly band-aids; he'd heal better without more holes poked in him. Sam gave in, mostly because he saw how much the arguing was taking out of Dean, and he knew Dean wasn't going to change his mind. Instead, he carefully bandaged the gashes and gave Dean a dose of the broad-spectrum antibiotic they kept on hand to ward off infection and put him to bed.

Sam got up, took a shower and started to shave. He almost didn't recognize the haggard-looking face staring back at him with dark circles under his eyes. He sighed, admitting to himself that this hunt had been an emotional rollercoaster ride. _Please God we don't have another werewolf hunt any time soon. This one turned out to be a werecat, and I'm still thinking of Maddy, twenty-four/seven… And Dean. That creature could've so easily bitten him, instead of clawing him. If I'd been a few seconds later… No, don't go there. That didn't happen. _

He shook his head and resumed shaving. If he started second-guessing himself on a hunt, he'd be of no use to Dean whatsoever, and Dean's protective streak would kick into overdrive. _Like it isn't already? He was worried about my reaction to this hunt from the get-go._ Sam finished shaving and dressed.

It was just after seven, and he intended to let Dean sleep in as late as possible. He knew Dean would insist that they leave Austin today, so he made sure everything was packed and ready to haul out to the Impala. Then, he dragged a chair close to Dean's bed and settled in it, watching over Dean and waiting for him to wake up. Dean looked unnaturally weak, lying in bed pale and injured, and Sam sought to replace that image with a stronger Dean. _My protective big brother._ He had so many memories to choose from…

_The loud crack of thunder shook the cramped garage apartment and woke four-year-old Sammy from his sleep._

_Another loud roll crashed through the apartment, like someone was banging on the world's largest drum. "Dean!"_

"_S'okay, Sammy," Dean spoke from the other twin bed, along the bedroom's opposite wall. "It's just thunder."_

"_But I don't like it! It's loud and noisy and—"_

_A flash of lightning lit their window, turning the dead of night into instant daylight for a few seconds. Then everything seemed even darker and the next burst of thunder was even louder. Sam heard Dean counting, "One-one thousand, two-one thous-" A violent crash of thunder interrupted Dean's voice. The rain picked up, too, suddenly pounding the roof directly overhead. Sammy ran for shelter, his bare feet scampering across the floor to the other bed._

"_Dean! C'n I—?" _

"_Get in," Dean flung the covers open and inched to his to left, closer to the wall, making room for Sammy. Sammy hopped in and plastered himself against Dean, as Dean settled the covers over them. "Now, go to sleep, Sammy."_

"_I can't! The storm's too loud," Sammy complained. He sought to tuck himself under Dean's chin._

"_Try," Dean encouraged, ruffling Sammy's curls. He took a few slow, deliberate breaths._

_Sammy remained tense and wide awake. "Read me a story," he wheedled after another clap of thunder._

"_I can't, Sammy. It's too late, and you really should go to sleep." _

"_But I can't. The storm woked me up!" Sammy curled his left hand into a fist and pounded it in frustration. It landed on Dean's chest._

"_Hey!" Dean hissed._

"_Sorry," Sammy mumbled. He quieted down, but he was still stiff and wide awake against Dean. Even at the tender age of four, Sam knew Winchesters weren't supposed to be afraid of anything. But the thunderstorm was so loud, and the new place creaked and groaned unexpectedly . . . it was scary._

"_Wanna play a game?" Dean asked quietly a few minutes later._

"_A game? What game?" _

"_It's a simple game. It's called The Hand Game." Dean swallowed. "Mom taught it to me. All you need is your hands." Dean's right hand picked up Sam's right hand and he squeezed in time with his words. "Do. You. Love. Me?_

"_Now, you squeeze back three times, and say 'Yes, I do.' Try it."_

_Sammy squeezed Dean's hand three times, slowly saying. "Yes. I. Do."_

"_Good. My turn, again, just two squeezes," Dean squeezed Sammy's hand twice. "How. Much? _

"_And you answer with one word: This. And squeeze as hard as you love me." _

"_But I'll hurt your hand." Sammy protested, worried._

_Dean's other hand ruffled Sammy's curls again. "No, you won't, trust me. Now, squeeze away."_

"_This," Sammy said and squeezed Dean's hand as hard as he could._

"_That was really good. I think you're ready for the advanced version."_

"_The advanced version?" _

"_Yes, keep the squeezes, and drop the words. You don't need the words, if you remember what the hand squeezes mean, one squeeze per word. You go first, this time."_

_Sammy squeezed Dean's hand four times, silently starting the hand game again._

Sam brought himself out of his memories. They had played the hand game--the advanced version--quite a few times, especially in Sammy's first years of hunting. They'd be waiting in the dark for something to happen. Sam would be quietly tense, and Dean would suddenly squeeze his hand four times, eliciting Sam's three squeezes back. Dean claimed it was a great way to improve Sammy's grip, but Sam remembered the words and knew better.

Sam smiled. The hand game, he hadn't thought of that in years… He stared at Dean, still sleeping, still looking pale and unwell. Dean had always initiated the hand game. Impulsively, Sam reached for Dean's hand, picked it up and squeezed four times. _Do you love me?_

Dean's eyes cracked open. A beat, then he squeezed back three times. _Yes, I do. _

_How much? _Sam squeezed.

_This. _Dean squeezed back, harder than before. It wasn't up to his usual 'I can break bones if I want to' standards, but it got the message across.

"Just checking you grip," Sam said with a sheepish grin. His hand pressed against Dean's forehead, and Dean batted it away. "You've got a fever, a little infection from the werecat's claws. Well, I expected as much." He rose to his feet. "Bathroom's ready any time you are. I'll load up the car while you shower. Then we're hitting the road, just long enough to put Austin in our rear view and find a small-town motel for you to recuperate in. You're riding in the backseat, and I'm driving."

"You're bossy," Dean grumbled, shifting around under the covers, preparing to rise. "I can't get a word in edge-wise."

Sam paused, thinking of the hand game. "You've said plenty already."

End

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the hunt! This was my first hunt story and also my first wee!chester scene, so it's one of my personal favorites. The hand game is real, my mother taught it to me and my sister when we were very young.


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